Writing fascinates me. If you know me well, you’ve heard me stutter, stumble, ramble into randomness, lose my train of thought, and then lose it again, get side tracked
–LOOK, shiny object–
dyslexify, discombobulate, and repeat my words. Writing conquers all of that. It’s like a mini adventure. I get to discover what I really want to say through the process of writing itself.
Subconscious information flows, a curious current that can affect the temperature, weather, and rhythms of my spirit. It rests in shadows, speaks in whispers, and pulls at me; an invitation to travel deeper, to know myself. Writing allows me to merge what lies below the surface with my waking mind. Once aware, I can do something with what I’ve learned; take action and evolve.
Writing. Revising. Proof reading. The process can reveal something beautiful, if I let it. Here on the page, I have the power to disentangle my thoughts and give them room to speak with strength, clarity, and purpose. Here on the page, I can share a voice that is uniquely mine. Here on the page, I can know myself. And that makes it worth all the effort.
Is the finished product important? Sure, it is. But the process will always teach me more.